Death Doth Draw Nigh
by IronPen123
Summary: May 19th 1536. Tower of London. Anne Boleyn reflects on the events of her latter life and the events leading up to her downfall and execution. As her time draws near she accepts her fate and dies with great dignity.


_Hello, all! In honor of the 475__th__ anniversary of Anne Boleyn's execution, I have decided to write a short fic about what her last few hours were like, according to _"The Tudors"_, as well as what I have read about this fascinating woman. She was incredibly brave and clung to her religious beliefs and to her God even through her toughest times. Anne Boleyn was a wronged woman, accused of many heinous crimes. She died with great dignity and with devout faith._

_She was an extraordinary woman. Anne Boleyn was intelligent, fiery, independent, and extremely strong-willed. She was also a devoted mother and wife, as well as a devout follower of Christianity. Her life changed the world around her. Without her, Henry VIII would not have broken with the Catholic Church and founded The Church of England. Anne Boleyn was a Reformist and a great supporter of the Protestant Reformation. _

_Unfortunately, history has made her out to be a villain of sorts. She is seen as a whore, a witch, a "home- wrecker", an adulterer, and even a murderer. Sadly, this woman has been vilified over the centuries and completely misunderstood. Although most people now believe differently than they did at the time of her death, still, many others hold to the belief that she was an overly ambitious, malignant woman. I believe this to be false. She was indeed determined and ambitious, as well as extremely clever. Yes, she did use much to her own advantage; however, she lived in difficult times where women were treated as property. Anne Boleyn lived in a world where one had to "trample" over others to get ahead and to survive. She did only the best she could to please a fickle king and to survive as long as she could. _

_May ye rest in peace, Queen Anne. _

_*Anne's POV* _

* * *

><p><strong>19 May 1536<strong>

**Tower of London **

**IT** is nearly seven o' clock, morning. In but a few hours, I shall be dead. For now, I sit away from the ladies, the ladies that were allowed to accompany me, here, in the Tower. I sit, engrossed in thought. It has been decided. I will die by decapitation today at nine o'clock. How does one prepare oneself for such an event? Can one even truly be _prepared _to die at all? So, it was. I was condemned to die in but a few, short hours. I had but a few hours left. I was to die for such crimes I did not commit. I swear it to be that I am guiltless. _Guiltless. _And yet, I was judged to be guilty. _Guilty_. As they had read my sentences, I was barely able to suppress my laughter. Their accusations of High Treason, adultery, witchcraft, and incest, were and remain to be, utterly ridiculous. I have committed no such atrocity. I am indeed an innocent woman, free from guilt of such heinous acts. The charges brought against me are nothing more than desperate measures from my husband and of Secretary Thomas Cromwell to rid themselves of me. They are futile efforts, of finicky men, in my opinion. Feeble though they may be, they are enough to bring me unjustly to death.

My husband now wishes to take unto himself another wife; a pale, pasty little _thing_ by the name of Jane Seymour. My husband's wish to marry her is indeed another desperate measure, no doubt. I was unable to produce the desired male heir, despite my most fervent prayers and desires. My first child had been a girl. When she was born I confessed myself disappointed. However, now I could not imagine myself happier, had she been a boy. She is my daughter, my sweet girl. My Elizabeth. _Mine_. I consider her my own daughter. The King loves her, no doubt, though I know when he looks at her he feels cheated. He must think to himself, _you _should_ have been a boy _whenever he lays eyes on King surely cannot love her, as a father should when he wished so much for a son. After the birth of my daughter, I became pregnant twice more. Alas, there were only more disappointments.

The first disappointment came when I miscarried of a child shortly after becoming pregnant in late December. I was told it had been a boy child. I, as a mother, mourned the loss of the child in my womb for months, while my husband and England mourned the loss of a future King of England. It was then that my husband began to lose interest in me. It was then he found pleasure _elsewhere_. He began taking more mistresses. And then he met _her_. Mistress Seymour was one of my ladies-in-waiting. She was a frail, pasty little thing. Jane is quiet and obedient. She is virtuous and pure; everything I have a reputation of not being. Her family, the Seymours, have long been competition to my family, the Boleyns. Ever since her brothers Edward and Thomas noticed the King had taken a liking to her, they sprang into action. They used her in the same way my own family, mainly my father, had used my sister Mary, and I. In this way, I cannot help but feel a slight twinge of empathy towards her. It is often the custom of wealthy, ambitious men to use women to get what they want through marriages and carnal pleasures. What a twisted world in which we live! But, I shall speak nothing of it, nor shall I speak anything against it, aloud, to anyone.

A few months after he had taken interest in Seymour, the King soon returned to my bed. I welcomed him back for I truly loved him and wished to become with child again. My wishes were soon granted. Before the year was out, I was again pregnant. The King was thrilled, as was I. This time the child would survive, this time the child would be the long-awaited boy. I took extra care and precaution with the child. I was careful to eat what the doctors and midwives recommended, as well as not to over-exert myself with too much exercise or worry. The child grew healthy inside me and I experienced no difficulty. I had thanked God for this blessing of another child and of a healthy pregnancy.

During my pregnancy, since I did not allow my husband his conjugal rights for fear of the baby's health, he began to take mistresses, as he always did. I was deeply hurt, but bore the pain alone. I did not worry too much, lest the child suffer for it. My countenance remained as calm and reserved as possible. I would take _no_ chances with _this_ child. The King continued to have affairs and to go away with Mistress Seymour. He would be gone for hours and no one would tell me where he was. I did not need to be told where he was. I _knew_. My intuition as a wife and a woman always told me when he was with Mistress Seymour, or one of his other women. Inside my heart was breaking, but outwardly I was all smiles and pleasantness. It was not until my husband experienced a jousting accident when I truly became uneasy.

I, myself, had chosen not to be at the joust, for fear the excitement of the tournament would rattle my nerves and harm the baby. Word was brought to me that the King had fallen from his horse, had been greatly wounded and was unconscious. They told me that he was in no good condition and that he might perish. If he were to die, what would I do? We have no son that would take his father's place on the throne. England would be thrown into utter chaos. I was not sure I was fit to rule, myself. When they had told me these things, I found it very difficult to breathe, or to think. I ran as fast as I could from their presence and threw myself upon my knees, in fervent prayer. I beseeched God to spare the life of my husband. The rest of England had joined me in appeasing the Almighty for the life of the King. Hours later, I was informed that my husband was awake and would survive. I thanked God and prayed once again for the safety of my child, due to my distress, and that it might be a boy.

It was then the month of March and the child continued to thrive in my womb. The Lord had heard my supplications and I was grateful. The child was moving around quite a bit now, a good sign of a healthy, active, and growing baby. One afternoon I was walking around the castle, as I often did for exercise, nothing too strenuous, of course. It was a beautiful day and although I wished to be out and about, perhaps in the gardens, I was careful not to exhaust myself.

I came upon a closed door as I turned and walked down the corridor. My husband's voice was on the other side of the door. Curious, as he was not having a Council meeting, I opened to door to peer inside. What I saw would ruin everything. The King was seated in a chair with Mistress Seymour upon his lap. They were kissing and touching each other. Shocked, I had gasped loudly enough so that they both noticed my presence. They turned to see my face, which surely was deeply disturbed and distraught at the sight of my husband with another woman. Jane Seymour, being the little coward she was leapt up from my husband's lap and nearly ran from the room. I would have gladly knocked her to the ground had my husband not been in my presence, or I had not been with child. The stress upon me at that moment took over me and I scarcely remember what things had been said between us. All I know is that I had shouted and screamed and wailed and ran from my husband in anguish and despair. Whatever I had said did not matter. It all ended in a bloody mess. I lost the child. Another boy.

I had miscarried of my savoir. It was my last chance. Along with the child, I had lost my husband's love and favor. Mere months later forces were at work, working to get rid of me. Cromwell was in charge, no doubt. However, it was not Cromwell's doing alone, but that of my husband's as well. I had been greatly deceived. On the second of May I was escorted to the Tower. I could not have known that in but a matter of weeks I would be condemned to die. I was told others were also imprisoned, accused of great atrocity. The other men included: Sir Henry Norris; Sir Francis Weston; Sir William Brereton; aspiring poet, Sir Thomas Wyatt; the young musician, Mark Smeaton; and my own brother George Boleyn, Lord Rochford. I knew these men from court. Most of them were the king's own groomsmen. All of them I had had contact with. They would visit me quite frequently in my chambers. Although nothing improper ever occurred from those visits, accusations flew. I was assailed with supposed crimes of adultery and High Treason against the King.

The charges brought against me had been ludicrous. I had committed no adultery. I have never been unfaithful to my husband in any way. Nor would I ever wish to be unfaithful, or to offend him in any way. There were accusations of my part on the supposed poisoning of the late Queen. Nonsense, of course. Then there was the allegation of incest with my own brother. This one charge was far more ridiculous than all of the others put together. It was so ridiculous that when I had heard it brought against me, I had had the urge to laugh bitterly in my accusers' faces. My "trial" had taken place on the fifteenth. However, it can hardly be called a trial at all. They might have saved themselves the trouble for such crimes were so hideous that I could not imagine any human being to be so vile as to actually _commit_ them, nevertheless myself. I was convicted of all charges. My judges showed no mercy and no remorse as they went along the line, each one proclaiming, "Guilty."

Soon after, I was escorted back to my rooms. The news was later brought to me by the Constable of the Tower, William Kingston, that I would be sentenced to death. I was to suffer execution by burning or decapitation at the King's will. Though I wished for neither, I feared death by burning more. Beheading would be more merciful and less painful than burning alive. 'Twas my greatest fear and possibly the worst way in which one could die. I prayed my husband would show me one last act of kindness. My prayers had been answered. I was informed that I would be executed my beheading. I requested an expert swordsman from Calais. The French's execution methods were far more reliable than that of England. I wish for my death to be swift and painless and not slow and deliberate as it sometimes was.

The other men, save for Sir Thomas Wyatt, since he was a friend of Thomas Cromwell, were to be executed on the seventeenth also by beheading. They would not suffer a traitor's death of being hanged, drawn, and quartered. I should have felt glad that they would not have to suffer much pain. But to me, death was death. It mattered not what would take them but only that they would die. I did, however, decide to thank God that they would die more _mercifully_. I still cared little for how they died. I was guilt-ridden. They were to die because of supposed adultery with me. My brother would lose him life because of _me_. I had offended the King and displeased the King too much for him to show any mercy upon anyone who might support me.

I sat in the window of the Tower as the deed was done. My brother, George, was the first to walk onto the scaffold and place his head upon the block. I was told he died with great courage and composure, as did the others. They recognized their supposed sins, repented, and accepted death, calmly and bravely. I prayed to God for the same courage and resignation when my turn came.

Archbishop Cranmer came later to hear my last confession and administering my last rights and communion. We prayed together and I repented of any sins I might have committed to displease the King and the Lord. I told him that I was innocent of the charges for which I was condemned to die; however, I acknowledged the fact that I was not completely free from sin. I was to die on the eighteenth at nine o' clock in the morning. Early that morning, I was informed that my execution had been postponed from nine o' clock to around noon. I told the Constable that "I was sorry and had hoped to be dead by then and passed my pain." He assured me that there would be no pain. I informed him that I had heard the executioner was quite good and that it probably would not matter anyway because "I have only a little neck."

Kingston came again to me, around the time I was to walk to Tower Green. My execution had been put off until the next morning, nine o' clock. I had hoped these were gestures of the King, merciful postponements. Perhaps he was testing me and would have me sent to a nunnery. I wished to get it over with. I did not desire death but I had been prepared and worried that further delays would weaken my resolves and that when the hour finally approached, I would not be able to compose myself.

Now, here, I sit in the Tower awaiting death, which is a pleasant escape from what I've lived with for the past three years of my life. I cannot say that I have been a happy Queen or wife. The only thing I belief to be pure in my life is my daughter, Elizabeth. She alone, has been my happiness and comfort. I mourn the death of the children in my womb, but I could not imagine I could love my daughter more or less had they survived, or had she been a boy. Let Henry marry the Seymour girl and get a male child on her. I shall be dead by then anyhow. I only pray for the life of my daughter and that her father is kind to her. Whatever hatred he feels towards me, I care not. I am innocent.

* * *

><p>It is time. I walk out onto the scaffold dressed every inch of a queen in crimson and gray petticoats with a fur cloak. I am wearing an English hood upon my head instead of the fashionable French ones I am known to wear. I will die English, England's wronged Queen. My ladies walk in front of and behind me. I am ready to die, happy to die. I regret only that my daughter Elizabeth shall be without a mother. My marriage to my husband was declared null and void with an annulment. And Elizabeth is now declared a bastard. I can now be empathetic to the Lady Mary and late Queen Catherine, both of whom I have disliked. Is this was it felt like to be put aside for another woman? Is this how it feels to have your daughter stripped of her title and cast away by her own father? I should have been kinder to them. Perhaps this was a just punishment. The King had been satisfied with putting Catherine away with a divorce. But he wished for <em>my<em> death, wanted _my_ blood to run.

I pause before I climb the scaffold, the crowd before me. My face turns to the Heavens. I do not know why I have looked up so. Perhaps I do so to prepare myself for my meeting with the Good Lord and eternity. Perhaps I do so for solace and comfort.

I took a deep breath as I stepped onto the scaffold and addressed the crowd. My voice was steady enough, although my heart hammered roughly against my chest and I felt like collapsing. I began to speak, "Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that, whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never; and to me was he ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord, have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul."

My ladies helped remove the hood from upon my head and to pull my long, dark hair away from my face and up into a coif. I paid the executioner and forgave him for what he must do and I then knelt upon my knees and silently prayed, "To Christ I commend my soul, Jesus receive my soul." I repeated this prayer over and over again, silently with my lips.

The Swordsman called out for his sword to be brought to him. I still had a few moments of life left. I continued to pray until I heard a whooshing sound from behind me and felt myself falling, falling, until there was nothing more. The world turned black. I had reached the end.

But it was only the end of _this _life. I had all of eternity to really live.

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><p><em>Tada! I meant to upload this yesterday for the anniversary of this great woman's death, unfortunately, I ran out of time. Grrr! Anyway, I'm quite proud of this one and hope I did this woman justice. Rest in peace, Queen Anne.<em>

_Here is the poem supposedly written by Anne Boleyn during her time in the tower, after which the story is named:_

**O Death Rock Me Asleep **

_Death, rock me asleep,_

_Bring me to quiet rest,_

_Let pass my weary guiltless ghost_

_Out of my careful breast._

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><p><em>Toll on, thou passing bell;<em>

_Ring out my doleful knell;_

_Let thy sound my death tell._

_Death doth draw nigh;_

_There is no remedy._

* * *

><p><em>My pains who can express?<em>

_Alas, they are so strong;_

_My dolour will not suffer strength_

_My life for to prolong._

* * *

><p><em>Toll on, thou passing bell;<em>

_Ring out my doleful knell;_

_Let thy sound my death tell._

_Death doth draw nigh;_

_There is no remedy._

* * *

><p><em>Alone in prison strong<em>

_I wait my destiny._

_Woe worth this cruel hap that I_

_Should taste this misery!_

* * *

><p><em>Toll on, thou passing bell;<em>

_Ring out my doleful knell;_

_Let thy sound my death tell._

_Death doth draw nigh;_

_There is no remedy._

* * *

><p><em>Farewell, my pleasures past,<em>

_Welcome, my present pain!_

_I feel my torments so increase_

_That life cannot remain._

* * *

><p><em>Cease now, thou passing bell;<em>

_Rung is my doleful knell;_

_For the sound my death doth tell._

_Death doth draw nigh;_

_There is no remedy._


End file.
